


Deep Into That Darkness Peering

by Faeymouse



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley's Fall (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 04:27:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29993859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faeymouse/pseuds/Faeymouse
Summary: "Ask yourselves, all of you... What power would Hell have if those here imprisoned were not able to dream of Heaven?"-Neil Gaiman, "Sandman: A Hope In Hell #4"
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 32





	Deep Into That Darkness Peering

**Author's Note:**

> The moment Crowley was all "Some of us like to sleep!" I was like, oh buddy. oh pal. You just loaded this gun, put it in my hands, and then went spread eagle on a bull's eye marked "Angst Concerning My Fall".
> 
> Enjoy~

Crowley enjoys the motions of going to sleep. That temporary break from existing, of putting the day away one little task at a time until all that’s left to do is lie in the dark and just sink into yourself and your thoughts has always held an unusual appeal. It reminds him a lot of Outer Space, and he’s always been fond of space. Of cold stars and nothingness aching to be made into something.

Crowley tends to play fast and messy when it comes to creating a vessel to inhabit on Earth. Clothing, hair, genitalia – he’s constantly just letting it do whatever works best at the time. The one part that he decidedly spent any extended amount of time on was the brain; specifically, the bit that lets you dream. Out of everything human, even demons can admit their ability to dream is pretty awe-inspiring. He really gets into it in the 21st century.

He is aware of nightmares, though somewhat offhandedly. In all honesty, he doesn’t think they could be as bad as, say, literal Hell. Which he is more than a bit familiar with. But the first time he has a nightmare? Oh. Anything the linear, mostly uncreative, static minds of Hell could ever concoct could ever be so personally painful. He wakes in a cold sweat (he makes a point of ridding himself of sweat glands after that), fingers clawing into sheets, his back on fire, and the sensation of falling threading itself through his mind like a needle, stitching fractured memories of that event together when he would have much rather left them torn apart and forgotten.

Without even consciously thinking about it, he's gripping his mobile with shaking fingers and speedialing Aziraphale. It gets to the first ring before he promptly hangs up. Aziraphale never sleeps - it takes away from his precious reading time, as he likes to put it, and quite honestly he can't see the allure of it even after 6000 years of being constantly _aware_ \- but Crowley can’t bring himself to call him. Maybe he doesn’t want to seem weak? Maybe he doesn’t want to show that Heaven can affect him in any capacity other than with a sarcastic contempt? Maybe he simply doesn't want Aziraphale to worry. He eventually convinces himself that like so many other trivial human matters, it’s a singular experience that his human brain can file away and forget.

Something odd happens after that, however. The dream keeps coming back. Once, some nights later, he even makes the mistake of trying to get comfortable on the ceiling, only to wake up from the final moment of his Fall to the terrifyingly visceral act of _literally_ falling face first onto his bed. He endeavors to stay where gravity wishes him to be after that.

Soon, the dream decides to haunt him even when he’s awake. He turns irritable - which Aziraphale notices with a worried look that Crowley dismisses petulantly, only to immediately regret it - and twitchy, mostly with the urge to conquer the damnable dream’s hold on him. It isn’t healthy, he knows that, but the less he attempts to think about it the more he does.

This goes on for longer than he cares to admit. After each one, he starts to call Aziraphale only to stop before the line is picked up. If Aziraphale notices, he politely doesn't mention it whenever they come around one another. Crowley doesn't know whether to be thankful or upset about that.

One particularly bad night, Crowley jerks awake as per the unfortunate usual, rolls over, and dials Aziraphale’s number.

The other end picks up immediately, almost as if Aziraphale had been expecting it.

“Crowley? Are you alright?”

Crowley definitely isn’t, but he isn’t prepared for this. He has nothing to throw out except the truth.

“No,” he says. And then, “I mean. Yeah, I’m alright. Can’t sleep.”

“Oh, why not?” Aziraphale asks. He tries to sound calm and almost bored, but the worry is as obvious as if he were standing right in front of Crowley, hands wringing and tongue tutting.

“Bad dreams.”

“Ah. Well. Er…do you want to come over perhaps, then?”

Crowley considers it, but can’t bring himself to push back the covers and get up. He feels that curdling feeling in his chest all but ordering him to try and sleep again, to just bloody get over it already. “I can’t. I can deal with it,” he says. “But thank you, angel. Lunch tomorrow?”

“Yes, yes.” Aziraphale pauses, and it oozes fretfulness. “Dear boy, you know you can talk to me, don’t you?”

Not about this. “Of course. Don’t worry your halo off, this…it isn’t something that needs talking about, I promise.” What he should have said was ‘Not something I know how to talk about’, but exhaustion is creeping up on him again. “Goodnight, angel.”

“It sounds like something that does need some talking about, and we both know how you do adore the sound of your own voice,” Aziraphale reasons.

“It’s only a dream.”

“About?”

“About… about something you can’t understand.”

“Try me?”

“No.” Crowley snaps, harsher than he means. “Goodnight, angel.” He says again.

He hears a huff on the other end. Then a click. Guilt closes its ugly jaws into him, but what can he do? Call again, and be unable to give an explanation? Better to try to actually get over it, he decides. Then he's sure he could talk about it easily.

Crowley goes to sleep, and the nightmare curls around him once more. He’s plummeting, burning apart like a comet in the atmosphere, and the ground below reaches out to embrace him. Like always, he hits it and jerks awake, expecting the memory of old pain to flash through him, leaving him in a pool of cold sweat and sheets.

Instead, it feels… warm.

Warm and safe, with a scent that he knows he recognizes. Something tugs lightly at his hair. Fingers? A voice follows them, soothing and more than a little bit affronted.

“There, there, dear boy.” More soft strokes of fingers. “It’s only a dream.”

“…Aziraphale?” His voice is a croak, and he starts to open his eyes when a hand gently places itself over them.

“You know it’s frightfully easy to get into your flat,” Aziraphale says. “Not a single ward against angels. That’s dangerous, you know.”

Crowley snorts softly. “Mm. What’re you…?”

“Doing here? Checking on my fiendish fool of a friend. Just bad dreams? Hrh.”

Crowley digs a hand back into the soft warmth, and realizes its Aziraphale’s chest. He moves his arms and legs without opening his eyes, and finds Aziraphale’s stomach and legs. He’s on Crowley’s bed beside him. As if on instinct, Crowley holds onto him, pressing in as close as he can.

“Sorry,” he mumbles into a shirt that smells like ancient books.

“My, your suffering must be horrendous if you’re apologizing after I’m the one that broke in and crawled into your bed without asking.” Aziraphale shifts just enough to pull the blanket back over them both. “It’s all quite alright, my dear,” he continues, unable to stay cruel in any capacity for long. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be here, and you can tell me about it properly when you wake up.”

Crowley squeezes an arm in quiet appreciation, and Aziraphale cards his fingers through his hair once again. “Goodnight, you devil,” he says softly.

"Goodnight, you angel."

When Crowley falls again that night, he finds it isn’t quite as scary. Or painful. He doesn’t even remember much about it, save Aziraphale at the end of that great drop, smiling softly.

**Author's Note:**

> -Originally posted on July 30th, 2019  
> -Title taken from a quote by Edgar Allen Poe: "Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before."


End file.
